“Oh, I like it!” Ben said as he sprayed some on.

Tim leaned over and inhaled, growling with pleasure. He attacked Ben, playing biting his neck before kissing him.

“Hey, cut it out!” Ben laughed. “You have to open yours now!”

“Later,” Tim insisted.

“No, now!” Ben pushed him away with a smile. “We have the whole night to snuggle up and stay warm.”

“Yeah, right,” Tim said as he righted himself and reached for his gift. “We could practically go for a walk in shorts and flip-flops. Texas winters are crazy. Don’t you ever miss the snow?”

“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “We visited my uncle in Minnesota once and--” He trailed off as the paper came off Tim’s gift. He was nervous about what he had chosen.

There were two topics that were forbidden with Tim. Sexuality was one. The most Ben could get him to say was that he was bisexual, but he had only said it once to appease Ben and put an end to a heated argument. The other taboo subject was his painting. Tim had never openly admitted this hobby of his and met any inquiries about it with dead silence. That made Ben’s choice of present this year somewhat risky.

Tim examined the wooden box full of paintbrushes. They were very expensive, the best that Ben could afford. Tim’s face was guarded, but his eyes were impressed. Next he looked at the four tubes of paint: red, green, white, and ice blue.

“Christmas colors,” Ben explained.

Tim looked up at him, his eyes questioning.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ben said. “I just want you to know that I love the painting you gave me and I think you are exceptionally talented.”

He swallowed, waiting for some reaction from Tim, who remained very still. Ben was on the verge of apologizing when the silence broke.

“These are really good,” Tim said, holding up the brushes. “I’ll do my best with them.”

Ben gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“You are a very persistent person, Benjamin Bentley.” Tim said. “Pretty soon I won’t have any secrets left.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“Maybe. Hey, do you want a glass of wine?”

“Um, okay.” Ben had never actually had wine before. Aside from some cheap booze that tasted like spiked Kool-Aid, he hadn’t done much drinking at all.

They left the giant mess behind and went into the den, where Tim chose the bottle that he felt most certain his parents wouldn’t want him opening. He poured two glasses, handed one to Ben and held up the other.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he toasted with a broad grin.

“Merry Christmas,” Ben responded, taking a sip gingerly. The taste was bitter, but it wasn’t too bad. “What?” he asked when the grin failed to diminish on Tim’s face. “Am I holding the glass wrong or something?”

“No, no. I was just thinking about something you said on your birthday.”

“What’s that?”

“How did you put it?” Tim feigned deep thought. “I think you said that there was quote ‘nothing you couldn’t do that a girl couldn’t’ unquote.”

“Yeah, so?” Ben didn’t see where this was leading.

“I thought we could put that theory to the test tonight.”

Ben’s second sip of wine almost went through his nose. He had given some thought to anal sex before, but it honestly wasn’t something that he ever fantasized about. Even when he had experimented by himself, it really hadn’t done anything for him. And now Tim was suggesting they try it? For the first time Ben wasn’t leading the bull by the horns. That wouldn’t do at all.

“All right,” Ben said. “I’ll fuck you. Bend over.”

“What? That’s not what I meant!”

“Sure it is! Don’t be shy,” Ben taunted. “I promise not to hurt you!”

“We’ll see who gets fucked,” Tim threatened. He set his wine glass down and launched himself at Ben, who almost spilled his drink all over the carpet.

“Wait! Wait!” he giggled, making a show of carefully setting his glass down before sprinting out of the room, Tim in close pursuit.

They chased each other around the hall, laughing and hollering, and finally kissing once Tim caught Ben. The joking subsided as it became clear that Tim intended to carry through with his idea. Their heat was broken momentarily by a puzzled conversation on what they were supposed to use for lubrication. They knew there was supposed to be something, but their knowledge on the subject stemmed mostly from gay jokes. Ben shot down Tim’s suggestion of Crisco, and a raid on Mrs. Wyman’s bathroom failed to manifest any Vaseline. In the end they found some fancy facial crème and decided to make do with it.

“Do you want to go up to your room?” Ben asked uncertainly.

“Nope. It’s Christmas.” Tim took him by the hand and led him to the living room, which was dark except for the Christmas tree lights.

“Here?” Ben was bemused as he was pulled down onto a bed of wrapping paper.

They began kissing each other while trying to undress, twisting into odd positions in order to remove clothes without their lips breaking contact. Ben went to work on pleasing Tim, part of him hoping to satisfy him before things escalated to the next level, but he only succeeded in bringing the moment closer. Once worked up there was no stopping Tim, who rolled over on top of Ben while fumbling with the lotion in one hand.

Tim broke away from kissing Ben to ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he replied, even though he was anything but.

The first attempt resulted in pain like Ben had never known, as if someone was twisting a knife deep within his gut. Tim apologized, but didn’t hesitate to try again. This time he managed to get it all the way in, but Ben forbade him to move in the slightest as he tried to grow accustomed to the feeling. He knew Tim was hung, but now it felt three times as big as it looked.

Eventually Tim started to move slowly. Just a tiny fraction of an inch at first, and then more as the physical sensations overtook him. Ben gritted his teeth and wondered how he would survive the experience as Tim’s thrusting intensified. He had no choice. Ben would have to ask him to stop.

He opened his eyes to do so and saw his lover above him, his body bathed in the eerie blue light of the tree. He face was lost in passion and more handsome than ever. Ben was so taken by this ethereal vision that he forgot his discomfort and relaxed. The pain disappeared, replaced by something akin to pleasure. Ben reached down to touch himself and the pleasure multiplied. Soon the chorus of Tim’s moans was joined by his own.

He reached up with his free hand to pull Tim in for a kiss, bringing their bodies closer together in the process. Their movements became one, increasing in need and intensity until they exploded together. Tim collapsed onto Ben, his heavy bulk warm and comforting. They lay there several minutes, catching their breath before they both started laughing with mad joy at what they had discovered.

* * * * *

Streams of purple, green, and blue rushed from three sides of the canvas, gathering together wild and free before attempting to continue their journey eastwards. The colors were halted by a dull grey barrier that couldn’t be broken, even though all three streams had joined forces against it. Was that how Tim felt? Was that why this painting hung on his wall, surrounded by superficial contemporaries of car and sports posters?

“Do you want to see more?” Tim asked from behind.

Ben started, not having noticed that the sound of the shower had ceased.

“See more what?”

Tim regarded him cautiously while toweling his hair dry. “Do you want to see my paintings? In my studio.”

“Of course I do!”

“Good. We can get some breakfast afterwards.”

Ben expected the studio to be somewhere in the house, but instead they drove to an office park on the edge of the city. Tim unlocked a nondescript door in an equally dull building and disarmed an alarm system by punching a code into the keypad.